


Curses Aren't All That Bad

by EasyTiga



Series: Wincest/J2 One shots [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blowjobs, Bottom Sam, Bottoming from the Top, Confessions, First Time, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Little shit Dean, M/M, Porn With Plot, Power Bottom Sam, Pranks, Prompt Fic, Riding, Top Dean, Witch Curses, bitchfaces, extreme denial, huffy sam, obedient sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24523264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EasyTiga/pseuds/EasyTiga
Summary: Winner of the first round of prompts:Sam has been cursed to do literally anything that his brother tells him to do and he's hating it. In typical Dean fashion, he takes it COMPLETELY OUT OF PROPORTION and starts testing the limits of the things that Sam will actually do. He didn't mean for it to get sexual HONEST, it just KIND OF HAPPENED. Ya'know, you get HARD and there's a MOUTH that will do ANYTHING you ask, and SAM'S actually REALLY ON BOARD with what's happening. So it's basically Dean having full control over what he wants Sam to do, and he's not even a little bit sorry for it at the end. MAKING SAM WET HIMSELF MAY HAVE BEEN A BIT FAR, THOUGH.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Wincest/J2 One shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686691
Comments: 10
Kudos: 147





	Curses Aren't All That Bad

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy it! It wasn't meant to be this long, but when the characters tell you that it's not over yet, you kind of have to listen! 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/24223036/chapters/58358878
> 
> Don't forget to vote for the next round. It's very close. ;D

“What do you mean let's try it out?” Sam glares at Dean, trying and failing to keep one eye on the screen as he scrolls through page after page on the hunt for a cure.

Dean rolls his eyes at Sam’s tone, pulling up a chair next to him. He contemplates moving out of striking distance. Sam’s pretty pissed already, and he’s not looking for a shiner just because Sam’s feeling defensive or some shit.

“We won’t know you’re even cursed if we don’t test it. I mean, what if Hokey and Pokey just said those things to mess with your head?”

Sam arches one eyebrow in curiosity, a pinched set to his lips that indicates he really doesn’t want to admit that Dean’s right about something.

“Okay. Fine. Test it, but just don’t be a dick about it,” Sam warns, looking nervous as shit.

Well, Dean can’t really blame him. He _is_ the type to run a mile when given an inch, so Sam’s fear is justified. Dean can be mature when he wants to be, however, so just for that, he’s not going to be.

“What was it again? Give an order and then snap your fingers?” Sam nods, swallowing. “A’right. Sam… Uh, pick your nose,” Dean orders, smirking as he snaps his fingers.

In retaliation, Sam rolls his eyes, a mild look of disgust at Dean’s _order_ his first reaction, before it morphs into one of immense horror as he brings his finger to his nose and starts mining for gold. Dean snickers, wondering if he should take it that one step further and get him to eat it…

He doesn’t. That’s not something he wants to see either.

“So, are you doing that because you think you’ll find the lost city of Atlantis in there, or is it the curse?”

Sam’s scathing glare is answer enough.

“Awesome. There we have it, folks. It works,” Dean says, a glint in his eye that Sam clearly doesn’t miss. “Not that I’m plannin’ on testing your limits or anythin’… Yeah. Nope. Not this guy.”

The fear in Sam’s eyes only grows.

“Ah. Right. Stop picking your nose.” _Click._ “Oh, my God. _I’m_ a God. Your God, actually,” Dean clarifies, snorting. “How else could I get you to stop digging for those sweet, sweet boogers?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah? Insult me some more, Sammy. See if I don’t make you _eat it_ ,” Dean warns in return, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. A kid that gets to celebrate that shit, opening presents and all that.

“Dean, what’re you gonna do?”

Sam obviously doesn’t like the look on his face, visibly fighting to keep his expression neutral, when Dean knows for a fact that he’s withholding a bitchface of epic proportions.

Dean shrugs one shoulder noncomittally in response, casual as you like as he grabs his jacket off the chair and shucks it on. “Grab your jacket and let's go.”

_Click._

On their way to the car, Sam aims accusatory, sidelong, not-subtle-at-all glances at Dean, pretending to be fascinated by something outside of his side of the car when he catches him staring. It’s really stupid. But then it is Sam, so why should he be that surprised?

Dean smirks at his own thought, blanking Sam’s questioning gaze that holds within it a revenge plan that probably involves cock-blocking him in some way. Typical Sam bullshit, knowing that other than Dean’s wheels and his music, the only thing that would bother him at all would be missing out on a chance to bang some hot babe.

He supposes he could order him not to get in his way if it comes down to it, but Sam’s plan could come into effect six years down the line when America’s Next Top model walks into the dive bar they’re in for the night. And that would just be a sin against nature, for him not to be able to get up in all of those mile-long legs and big, voluptuous breasts. Dean shudders at the thought, sending a silent prayer to Aphrodite that Sam has the shits on that fated day.

For the record, Dean _does not_ watch that show. He just knows about the models and how hot they are because a thing exists called _Google._ Also, he caught Sam jacking off to one of their pictures a few months ago. Dean had done what all awesome big brothers do and gave him absolute shit for it, imitating how Sam hastily tucked himself back into his jeans and rolled over onto his stomach to flatten his cock every now and then when Sam gets back from a beer run.

Without fail, Sam flushes down to his fucking toes and hides in the bathroom for five minutes. Shit’s hilarious.

Amazingly, Sam says nothing on the ride over, with his mouth. He says a lot of things with his eyes and the set of his lips. Those damn shoulders of his are tenser than Cas when they reference movies. Meh. Dean’s sure he’ll be fine. He’s not going to make his life _that_ miserable. Just a little. Y’know, for funsies.

Dean parks the car outside a diner and heads inside, Sam reluctantly following behind him, hands in his pockets and looking like someone just told him he has three weeks to live. Well, in their life, you have to get used to that or delude yourself into thinking everything is all sunshine and fucking rainbows.

The bell dings when they enter. It’s a small diner, hardly anyone’s in there. Dean does a quick scan, sees two women. One is middle-aged, looks like she’s been around the block a few times. The other one is younger, boobs big enough to bounce around as she walks if she didn’t have a look of utter despair on her face right now, leant against the counter looking to all the world like she could not be more bored.

Well, Dean could make her day better. Maybe. If they have time.

“Go pick a booth, Sammy,” Dean says with a click, and Sam levels him with a sour stare filled with venom before doing as he’s told. He’ll have to add some things like _do this and don’t look at me like someone peed in your cereal_ or _do this with a smile and be grateful to be doing my bidding, swine._

Dean snickers and runs his tongue over his bottom lip, approaching the counter after straightening his jacket, a coy smile on his face as he leans his elbows on the counter.

From the back of the diner, he can _feel_ Sam’s glare on the back of his head.

“Hey there,” Dean starts, turning his head to raise an eyebrow at Sam, who glowers at him and the cute girl. She suddenly has a bit of a smile on her face, lashes fluttering and breasts squeezing together when she folds her arms.

“Hey yourself,” she replies, raising one hand to curl a lock of hair around a finger.

“Can I get a menu?”

She offers a pointed look at the tables. “Pick a seat, Sir. All the tables have menus.”

Dean turns around and makes an effort to _check,_ turning back around with a sly smile on his face. “I see that. But I’d rather get one from you,” he says evenly, dipping his eyes to check her nametag. “Amy.”

A blush creeps up her neck and Dean tracks it, trailing up to her eyes as she reaches blindly for a menu from somewhere underneath the counter and slides it towards him. She keeps her fingers on the laminated card, and Dean knows what to do, splaying his own hand on top, the tips of his digits flirting with hers as he draws it back to himself, licking his lips seductively in a blatant invitation.

Just as Amy is about to probably give him her number or whatever, an obscenely loud throat clearing breaks the spell between them.

Dean gives her a wane smile, draws the menu back and turns on his heel. “Thanks,” he offers, glaring daggers at Sam as he approaches him. “What the Hell was that?”

“I’m starving. I want to order something. Figured I’d probably need your permission,” Sam replies, looking huffy. Ugh. Dean so doesn’t want to deal with this right now, but that girl is most likely now convinced that they’re together. “What are you even doing, anyway? We don’t have time for that.”

“ _We?_ You say that like you’ll somehow be involved,” Dean grumbles, falling into his seat. “Also, there’s nothing wrong with taking a little break from researching, geek. You’ve had your eyes glued to that fucking screen for what seems like days.”

“People are dying, dude.”

“So is your libido, apparently. Geez. When was the last time you even copped a feel?”

Sam twitches his lips and flicks his eyes down to his phone.

“It doesn’t matter. Focus on the case, Dean. When we find out what we’re dealing with and kill it, I promise I won’t get in your way of banging every girl you see in a 30-mile radius. We good?”

Dean frowns, nods his head a few times, grins lewdly, licks his lip, bites it and then nods again.

“Fine. Prude.”

“Bite me, Dean,” Sam gripes, breathing out harshly through his nose. 

“Don’t tempt me. It’ll be the only action you’ve had in months,” Dean replies with a roll of his eyes. Sam makes a weird face, going red with anger, Dean guesses. He peers over his shoulder at Amy, who’s engrossed by whatever is on her phone. “Sam, would you fuck her?”

_Click._

“No.”

Dean raises both eyebrows. “Really? Why not? She’s hot. Are you sayin’ I have poor taste?” He’s not sure why he sounds so defensive, but it is what it is.

The snort that comes from Sam is irritating.

_Click._

“Yes, really. She’s not my type. Your taste is narrowed down to female and pretty.”

Dean scoffs. “So what’s your type then?” _Click._

There’s a look of extreme worry on Sam’s face even as he answers. “It differs from men and women,” he says, swallowing audibly.

For a moment, Dean’s pretty sure his heart stops. “Wait… You like… both?”

Sam nods without the addition of the click.

Clearing his throat, Dean throws an arm over the back of the booth and stares out the window for a second. “That’s… cool.”

“Cool?” Sam sounds like he’s about to douse him with holy water.

“What? Were you expecting me to leave your ass here and never speak to you again? It’s not even a big deal. I’ve done some stuff. I mean, I was drunk and he knew what he was doing with his mouth, so–”

“I don’t need to hear the end of that,” Sam cuts him off, a glint of gratitude in his eye and the presence of a small smile. “So, you like guys, too?”

“Not really. Any hole is a goal, I guess.”

Sam seems contemplative for a minute, eyes darting between Dean and whatever he’s scrolling through on his phone.

Dean picks at the knees of his jeans, shaking his head a few times before slapping his thigh. He can make himself be mushy and shit for Sam without feeling like he’s about to grow a vagina.

“I want you to know that I… I never would have given you shit for something like that, Sammy. Y’know… You’re my pain in the ass little brother. You liking it up the ass isn’t gonna change that.”

The look Sam gives him is a cocktail of embarrassment, righteous anger, deep regret and a smattering of fondness.

“Who says I take it?”

Dean quirks one brow, smirking. “Are you the pitcher or the catcher?”

_Click._

“Catcher. Dammit,” Sam groans, glaring out the window. “That’s not fair.”

To his credit, Dean does not laugh. “Oh, lighten up, Samantha. You bein’ a Banana Crammer won’t make me think any less of you. No more than I already do, anyway,” he adds with a wink, and Sam’s face sours further.

There’s a lull in the conversation, Dean scanning the menu and picking the greasiest burger he can find, which Sam seems appalled by, lips pinched when Amy comes over to take their order, practically swaying at Dean’s side when she writes down what he wants.

Before Dean can turn on more of his charm, Sam dismisses Amy with a pointed _that’s all, thanks,_ and Dean can’t believe Sam cock-blocked him _twice,_ with the same girl, who _definitely_ thinks they’re a couple now, and has even resorted to giving him filthy looks for his obvious flirting.

So now he’s the asshole? Great.

“You get that she thinks we’re… together now, right?” Dean says with a deep scowl.

Sam shrugs one shoulder, like he could care less. “That’s not my problem. You already agreed to be a good boy and wait.”

Bristling at that, Dean kicks Sam’s shin under the table, relishing the hiss and thinking the pressure on his toes in retaliation is totally worth it.

They’re halfway through their food when Dean decides that he’s not dropping this whole cock-blocking thing.

“Sam, go tell that waitress that you like to collect Banana peelings and store them in your secret vault and you’re worried that one day it’ll be raided by monkeys who want their bananas back.”  
  
Sam looks at him with a mixture of pleading eyes and you’re so fucking dead eyes that make Dean smile with pride.   
  
He clicks his fingers, which provokes Sam into action, immediately sliding out of the booth and walking up to Amy. Dean watches him recite what he told him, Sam’s cheeks flaming halfway through, and then practically melting off his face by the end of it.   
  
Dean’s holding back laughter, looking at Amy and noticing that she seems partly concerned for her wellbeing, partly convinced that Sam’s off his medication. Bless her, she’s trying to smile, but it’s coming off as more of a wince.   
  
She doesn’t slap him though… Which… Damn. Dean was kind of hoping to get one of those 60s slaps that make the whole diner stop what they’re doing and look over to the spectacle, but oh well. Maybe she felt bad for flirting with his _man_ or whatever.  
  
Oh well. It’s a slap. Sam could have taken it. He gets thrown into walls and shit, so a slap is nothing.   
  
Dean snorts repeatedly, trying to cover it with a cough as Sam walks back over to him, practically trailing an invisible tail between his legs. Dean’s laughing his ass off before Sam sits down, not even caring that he’s probably looking more like the crazy one now, pointing at Sam and gesturing to the look on his face. He might even throw in a knee slap.   
  
Y’know, just ‘cos.

Sam doesn’t say anything when he gets back, grabbing his stuff form his seat and striding out of the diner like a bat out of hell, Dean following behind with a satisfied grin on his face. He can feel the weight of Amy’s stare on the back of his head, like she’s not sure if she should call the police or not. It’s fine if she does. They’ll be well on their way before they can do anything to stop them.

In the car, Sam refuses to even look at him, keeping his gaze firmly fixed outside his window, shoulder leaning as far against the door as he can get it. Clearly trying to put as much space between them that he can.

It’s stupid. They’re probably never going to see that girl again, so there’s no need for him to get his panties in a wad. Hmm. Maybe he should make Sam wear panties for shits and giggles. Tell him to pull them right up against his crack and above the waistband so people can see them when he bends over.

Dean swallows, blinking away the image as he turns off towards the town centre, suddenly very interested in his own proposal. Because Sam will be so embarrassed and red all over, probably. He just… he just wants to see him squirm. Yeah. He’s still pissed about getting cock-blocked, after all. Torturing Sam will make him feel a little better.

That’s why they stop at a lingerie shop, Sam wordlessly following him because he’s been ordered to follow, keep his mouth shut, and act like he wants to be there. They get a couple of stares as they flit around the place, Dean spending far longer than he needs to pressing the panties along Sam’s waist to see how they fit. Dean can sense that behind Sam’s put upon expression, he’s imagining thousands of different ways that he can get him back for this.

Which… Oh well. That’s not going to stop him from having his fun while he can.

“Whaddya think? I’d say the bows are a nice touch,” Dean says with a leer, ushering Sam towards the changing room. Sam has the most plastic smile on his face that Dean has ever seen. “Come on. You’ll love it, _sweetness_. It’ll really bring out the color of your eyes.”

Sam stops outside of the changing room stubbornly. Oh, right. He didn’t add the part about changing into them in his list of commands. Dean’s got to remember to consider all angles, since Sam is the fucking master of loopholes. Guy went to college and everything.

“Go change into those and snap some pics of yourself with just those on, then send them to me. I need them for blackmail material,” Dean states bluntly, swatting Sam on the ass to get him in motion as he clicks his fingers. “Get along now, Pretty Woman.”

While Sam changes, Dean contemplates what his next move is going to be. It might be fun to go to a bar and have Sam show off his new frilly panties. Maybe have him sit on one of the bar stools with his shirt riding up, showing off the thin material. He wonders if anyone will actually take any notice.

Dean’s not… blind. He knows his brother is a good looking man. Even if he does look more like a girl from the back. A really, really tall girl, but a girl nonetheless. He supposes that could get him some attention…

Odd. He kinda doesn’t like the idea of that. Like someone leaning on Baby. Weird.

Dismissing that notion with a hasty wave of his hand, Dean takes out his phone when he feels it vibrate against his leg.

Heh. This will be a laugh.

Dean unlocks it and opens the attachment, grinning like a madman before it even loads up. He’s expecting to see Sam looking all robotic, one hand by his side as he snaps the picture, face blank and unreadable.

What he gets instead has his throat going suddenly dry and his jeans growing tighter than they were a few seconds ago. Blood rushes to his cock as he takes in Sam’s’ thin waist, the strip of fabric blending well with the sun-kissed cuts of his hips and baby smooth skin, which is a massive surprise to Dean.

He certainly did not expect that Sam would be clean-shaven all over his body. Who’s he doing that for? Is that part of the whole fudge packing thing?

Dean shakes his head and considers deleting the image. He’s obviously just really frustrated that he didn’t get to score with… diner girl. Yeah, that makes sense. It’s not because he’s turned on by Sam in a pair of panties that Dean could effortlessly peel back with his teeth, or hook his thumbs in when he’s—

Let’s stop that train before it even gets off the tracks. Dean doesn’t need the image of that in his head. No Sir. Not at all. It’s… It’s… He needs to think about something else.

Which he does, snapping out a demand for Sam to hurry his pretty little ass up. Sam says nothing. Heh. He still can’t. But nevermind that. Dean needs to think about… literally anything else. He’ll take thinking about the theory of relativity over how Sam would look with his hands braced on the countertop, winking over his shoulder as he sways his hips enticingly—

Stop that, right the fuck now.

Think about dead things. Like little rabbits. That one that Sam had for a couple of months when they were stuck in Wyoming. Cute little thing. He named it Thumper, the dweeb. Little shit didn’t stop clinging to Dean’s shirt as he balled his fucking eyes out after it got hit by that car, which Dean tracked down and keyed thoroughly. Sam just looked so sad and pathetic that Dean didn’t even give him crap for being such a diva about the whole thing.

Phew. Sam’s gross, snotty, crying face seems to have worked, Dean’s cock deflating faster than a punctured tyre.

Sam comes back out then, and Dean doesn’t have it in him to shower him in good-natured ribbing, so he drags him to the register to get his shit paid for, and then practically carries Sam out of that place like Hellhounds were on their asses.

Outside of the shop, Sam’s order comes to an end and he immediately drops his shit and says, “What the _hell,_ Dean? What am I supposed to do with these?!”

“I _believe_ you’re supposed to put them on your body. To cover your skin or whatever. Hey, I like being naked as much as the next—”

“Stop being a smartass,” Sam snaps, supreme bitchface firing on all cylinders. “What are you going to make me do with these?”

“Well, first you’re gonna get ‘em all dirty. And, with how much you sweat, that shouldn’t take too long. Then we’re gonna sell them to the highest bidder.”

Almost impossibly, Sam’s bitchface reaches the next level.

“Oh, come on, Sammy. Perverts need to get their fix somehow. Some of them could be war veterans, and you know they’re always saying we shoul—”

“Shut up. Please, just shut up… I’m asking you here… What are you going to make me do?”

Sam’s pleading actually makes Dean pause, and he feels a horrible squeezing in his stomach which could maybe be guilt. Or gas. He has been holding one in for a while now.

So he lets it out, and Sam huffs, spinning on his heel with his head lowered. “That better not be your answer.”

“It’s not,” Dean defends, picking up the bags. He walks off towards the car without another word, slowing down just a touch to let Sam fall back into step with him. “Here’s my real answer… I don’t need to do anything. You’re already embarrassed, sweating bullets and you look like you’re about to combust. So… There’s really nothing else I need do to here.”

As if to prove his point, Sam’s face practically glows as he pulls his jacket further down his body, as far as it will go.

===

Don’t ask him why, but Dean makes Sam sleep in the panties. Yeah, he’s not sure what he’s doing either. And he’s really not sure why he told Sam to sleep with the covers off and sleep on his front.

It’s not so he can watch Sam’s ass in the panties. Obviously. No. That would be stupid. And wrong. If anyone says otherwise, Dean will deny it.

The weather is kind of hot. This is a good thing. For Sam. Yeah. Dean’s gonna sleep without covers, too. That would make total sense.

Except he’s in bed, back to the wall with a hand sneaking down to his boxers and his eyes are laser-focused on Sam’s actively wriggling ass.

If Dean didn’t know any better, he would say that Sam’s doing it on purpose, hips making small little circles and back arching pornographically as he mewls softly in his sleep.

What is going on here? Why is he getting off on this? Why does he want to get his cock out and start beating off to the stretch of those little panties over Sam’s–okay, admittedly nice ass,… for a dude…

This is so, so, so wrong. He should not be staring at Sam’s ass like it’s the only spot of light in a world shrouded in darkness. Ugh. What is wrong with him? He shouldn’t be thinking about this stuff.

It’s Sam on that bed. His brother. His little-big brother. Fuck, he practically raised the kid.

But he’s not a kid. Not anymore. He’s a grown man coming up to his thirties. It’s weird to think that he once didn’t even come up to Dean’s waist. Heh. The little shit. The little shit turned giant.

Also, he’s a man. An attractive man. But a man.

Yes, Dean’s let a couple of guys suck his dick. He may have even fucked a guy before. Not that he remembers. He was really drunk at the time, to the point where he’s not even sure he would have been able to get it up. This is Sam, though. The person that he has sworn protect with his life—and has.

He can’t be attracted to him. It’s incest. He already told those fanfic writers that they were sick, indirectly. Hypocrisy isn’t something he likes having in his wheelhouse.

Dean thumps his head back against the wall and slaps his dick, gritting his teeth to keep in the groan of agony. He gets out of bed, throws covers over Sam’s form and gets back in bed, turning over and facing away from him.

===

Dean wakes up feeling cold and stuffy and Sam tells him about his good friend Karma biting him in the ass.

Screw him.

Actually, don’t.

“Stow it or you’ll end up with it, too,” Dean warns.

Sam looks victorious. “How’re you gonna do that?”

Dean stares at Sam’s lips, wondering when they started to look so fucking kissable.

“I can think of a couple of ways. Don’t test me. And, also, fuck off. Get me coffee and a bacon double.”

“No click?”

“Do I need to snap my fingers?” Dean gruffs, coughing into his elbow. “I thought you might like to just do as your told, for once.”

Sam glowers at him, opens his mouth to most likely tear him a new one, but then rolls his eyes and leaves him alone in the room.

Good thing, too, since he was seconds away from ordering him to kiss him. With tongues and biting. All of it. Dean wanted to bite down on Sam’s bottom lip, get him to open up and submit to him, then he wanted to show Sam exactly why all the girls swooned when they saw him walking down the halls in school.

Jesus. What the hell is happening to him?

The other day, these same thoughts would have him wanting to empty his fucking stomach, so why do they suddenly have him hard enough to pound nails?

Or pound Sam.

_Fuck._

He’s so hard it physically hurts. And no amount of willing it to go down is having any effect whatsoever. It’s almost as if his cock is mocking him for his disgusting thoughts about his brother.

About Sam.

That’s not something he can push past. This is the person that he’s willing to lay down his life for at the drop of a hat. He shouldn’t be thinking about kissing, pressing, grinding against him until he’s a writhing mess, offering his neck for Dean to bite down on, suck, nip and claim as his own as he sinks into the tight, warm heat of Sam’s ass and—

Woah. Back the fuck up. Stop with this.

It’s the cold. Yeah, it has to be. What other explanation could there be? Because he’s not sexually attracted to his brother. He’s just not. He can’t be. No one without some disturbing kink would be attracted to a person that they have literally fed, bathed, changed and watered more times than they would like to admit.

And Dean has done. He’s seen messy diapers, had pee on his fingers–been thrown up on. It was gross and nasty, and there’s not a chance that he can get past that.

That’s what he’s going to cling on to. If he doesn’t, his sanity is the next thing to go.

Sam chooses that moment to come back into the motel that they’re staying at, waltzing over to the bed and handing him his burger.

“Here.” Sam seems lost for something to say. “Feelin’ better?”

Dean gives him the finger and snatches the proferred burger, peeling the wrapper open and taking a bite. “I will after this.”

Sam looks uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly at the side of his bed, eyes sliding down to where the covers are protruding upwards before darting to the wall. Dean would tease him if it wasn’t a sore spot for him right now. 

“Dean… Were you, um… Y’know?” Sam clears his throat, looking like he’s about to shit himself.

“He’s not hurting anybody,” Dean replies with a wink that he immediately regrets, face souring as he claims another huge bite of his burger. “Dude, stop looking at it.”

The audible swallow that ensues makes Dean’s cock twitch. Sam fidgets, still staring at it like it both holds the key to the knowledge of the universe and is about to choke him to death—

Which makes Dean gag on the food in his mouth, face paling as he pounds a fist against his chest. Sam is on him in seconds, twisting him around and Heimlich manoeuvring that bitch out of him.

During the commotion, the covers shifted off of him and now his cock is standing loud and proud between his legs, Sam’s fingers hanging just below his sternum and flexing against him. Dean coughs several times, body wracking with the motion. He squirms in Sam’s hold, wriggling and trying to twist, but Sam doesn’t seem to want to let him go yet.

“Uh, Sammy? You can let me go now. Thanks. I’m all good,” Dean says, vehemently ignoring how good Sam’s hands feel on his skin.

When Sam still doesn’t let him go, Dean orders him to with a snap of his fingers, outright denying that he misses the contact as soon as it’s gone.

“Sorry,” Sam says, voice shot. “I, uh… I need to shower.”

“You showered this morning.”

Sam backs off, trying and failing not to look at Dean’s cock, apparently.

“Well, I need another one. I just touched you, so I’m probably positive for herpes now. So, thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” Dean shoots back with a scowl. Then he notices something. “Hang on.” Sam does, standing stock still at the click. “Dude, you really need to get laid,” Dean groans with a roll of his eyes and flops back against the bed, burger all but forgotten.

“Fuck off,” Sam replies weakly, running into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

Dean can’t believe Sam got a fucking hard-on from staring at his dick. This is just all kinds of fucked up.

===

Dean needs a laugh. Sam is the perfect tool to make that happen.

A few days after his cold, Dean’s feeling better, but he feels awkward as all hell around Sam now, so he’s hoping that pranking him will get them back into the swing of it, and he’s figured out exactly how he’s going to do that, walking over to where Sam is sleeping on his bed. Dean crouches and cups a hand over Sam’s ear, whispering an order.

Dean wrinkles his nose the moment he sees a dark stain starting to appear beneath the covers, having lifted them up to check that it worked. It’s the perfect plan. Sam wakes up to a bed full of piss, gets extremely embarrassed, and nearly dies from it when they’re leaving the building and he sees the room service person on their way to prep the room for the next guests.

He snickers as he thinks about the look on Sam’s face, already feeling ten times better. He gives it a few more minutes, waking Sam up with a couple of taps to his cheek.

Sam does not make a really fucking cute face when he slowly shakes his head and twitches his lips, groaning in slight irritation. It’s not cute at all. Nope.

“Dean?” Sam whines, pushing his hand away, probably about to remind him what time it is, which is when he realises that he’s lying in piss and his face reflects his feelings towards that, looking to all the world like his life is over. The utter humiliation on his face is actually somewhat delicious, and Dean’s never been prouder of himself at this moment. “Oh my God. No fucking way.”

The mortification wafting off of Sam in waves sates Dean’s’ appetite. He’s starting to feel like a pain in the ass older brother again, and he’s not mad about it. Not at all, in fact. Sam will get him back for this at some point, if he figures out that it’s the curse that made it happen—unless Sam thinks he has some major bladder issues, that is.

“What’s up, dude?” Dean feigns confusion at Sam’s current state, biting back a smirk when Sam turns miserable eyes on him. He makes a show of sniffing the air then, face contorting in revulsion as the potent smell of ammonia surges up his nose. “Gross. It smells like fucking piss in here. Do you smell that?”

Sam pales, seeming to contemplate whether or not he should reveal that he wet the bed. They both know that it’s not something that Dean would ever let him live down, but this isn’t the point of this prank. Dean’s actually planning on being uncharacteristically supportive so that Sam feels oddly better by the time he comes in contact with the cleaner.

Yes, that’s when his embarrassment is supposed to come to a crashing halt as he practically melts through his skin from the heat amassing in his cheeks.

Of course, that all goes out of the fucking window when Dean really gets a good look at Sam’s face, and sees that he’s so disgusted with himself that he might actually cry tears of frustration.

Great. Change of plans, then.

“Sammy, you didn’t wet the bed,” he admits, avoiding eye-contact. “I just wanted to see if it would work while you were asleep.”

Sam shoves him hard enough to have his ass hit the floor and all is forgiven when he rolls his eyes like he should have expected it.

===

It’s when he’s been trying to sleep for the past four hours that Dean realises his cock is not going to go down unless he does something about it. Jerking himself off doesn’t appear to be doing anything at all. No matter how many times he comes, it’s back to throbbing between his legs before he knows what’s hit him. And he’s had about as much of it as he can take now.

He just wants to go to sleep. They’re done with the damn hunt and they’re both exhausted. There’s nothing more that his body can give here, so why won’t it let him shut off for at least a couple of hours?

Sam’s on the other bed snoring logs, the lucky bastard. His lips are parted as he takes in small amounts of air, chest rising and falling, hair splayed on the pillow. If Dean reached out, he could touch the fingers scraping on the carpet, but he won’t.

What started as some weird-ass attraction to Sam that he’s still very much in denial about. Well, it’s not denial. Because denial would mean that he actually feels that way. Which he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to fuck Sam, okay? Nor does he want to see what he’s like on his knees for him or kiss his pretty–-gross, mouth.

Back on track. It started as a… Whatever it is. He’s not willing to label it. In any case, at first his disgusting mind plagued him with images of Sam in all kinds of compromising positions, supplying what his ass would look like spread apart by Dean’s hands, cheeks slapping back together when he let go, for example. Now, it’s moved into a really, really weird territory that Dean would rather not associate with Sam at all.

He’s started… Keeping him by his side. Yeah, that’s probably the word for it, since he’s been isolating them in the darkest corner of whatever bar they’re in, eyeing everyone else with venom when they so much as stare in their direction.

Something odd is happening to him. He thinks it has something to do with this curse. Maybe as the… master? Yeah, let’s go with that. Maybe the more he tells Sam what to do, the deeper the attachment is?

Dean’s not sure, but the very idea makes his head hurt. And he would get Sam in on it if that didn’t mean he’d have to reveal to him that a few minutes ago he imagined him waiting on a bed with a plug lodged firmly in his ass to keep him nice and ready for Dean to pull it out and slot right in.

Not happening.

He can’t get the thought out of his head. Nor can he stop the fantasy of falling asleep curled around Sam—like they did when they were kids and he had nightmares or they had to share a bed—keeping him safe from the rest of the world, while letting said world know that Sam’s _his_ to take care of.

It’s all so ridiculous. And sappy. He had to check that he hadn’t grown boobs all of a sudden. The last thing he wants is to have to start syncing up cycles with Sam, violently shuddering at the thought.

Dean groans for maybe the 40th time tonight, throwing the covers off of him and getting out of bed. He’s at Sam’s bedside before he knows what he’s doing, stroking a couple of fingers along Sam’s jawline, surprised by how soft it is as he hooks a thumb on his bottom lip and smoothes it from left to right repeatedly.

Sam makes a soft noise and closes his lips around it, mewling and tonguing the tip, which has Dean’s cock practically crying for attention, an envious throb causing a sharp ache in his groin as it demands to replace his thumb that instant.

A thought occurs to him that Sam is asleep right now, and surely he can make it so that he doesn’t remember what he does to him, right?

Dean shakes his head frantically, willing himself to pull his thumb away. It’s not listening, body staying still and kneeling on the bed without his permission, lips parting automatically and saying, “Suck my dick.”

There’s a long pause before he snaps his fingers. The noise is Earth-shattering as Dean’s heart rate picks up, not entirely sure what’s about to happen.

Sam’s eyes slide open, then, vibrant and warm as his body rises. Dean has about a second to rethink his decision before Sam’s pinning him to the bed and settling between his legs, lips closing around his cock and sucking him down to the root in hardly any time at all.

Dean squirms and bucks up into the heat, Sam’s lips sliding up and down his cock like he was born to do it, tongue a flat and wide presence that has Dean’s thighs stuttering when he strokes over the underside.

There’s no doubt in his lust-addled brain that Sam has done this before, using just the right amount of suction to make his toes curl, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure when Sam deep-throats him, pausing with his cock buried inside the clutch of his throat. Sam swallows around him intermittently, the soft vibrations making Dean moan Sam’s name, head thrashing from side to side, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his hands cling on to Sam’s hair.

He tightens his grip and arches off the bed, curving forward to steeple his hands around the back of Sam’s neck, biting off a curse as Sam pulls back up to the head, rotating his tongue at a snail's pace, activating every nerve that exists within his cock on his way around.

Dean’s eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Fuck—oh fuck! Shit… Guuuh. You bastard,” Dean groans, kicking out with his feet to push further up the bed, which Sam seems to notice because he helps guide him back until he’s sitting with his back to the wall, legs spread and jittery as Sam hums around his cock, neck straining from the force at which he’s slowing his pace, Dean’s cock pulling away from his groin due to the tightness of Sam’s lips.

He’s in heaven right now. Blowjob heaven. Sam is giving him the best head of his life right here in this motel room, moaning around his cock like he’s fucking loving it, hands gentle on his hips as he pushes his head down all the way, the wet sound from his throat making Dean twitch in the fleshy tunnel bracketing his cock, squeezing around him in the best way possible.

Too far gone now to regret this or put a stop to it, Dean remembers that he needs to be specific in his orders or Sam will literally take it at face value.

“Do what you normally would,” Dean starts, making a face at the next part of his order, “with a dude.“

_Click._

Sam stops what he’s doing for a second, pulling off and bringing one hand from Dean’s hip to his cock, wrapping around the end and starting a rhythmic jerking motion. Then Sam’s pushing his cock back until it’s flat against his stomach, body bent to lick a hot line up to the tip. Dean moans as Sam’s legs stretch out on the bed and he arcs around to settle his head on Dean’s hip, getting Dean back in his mouth.

For a while, Sam suckles at his cock, one hand tucking under Dean’s ass to push him further down his throat. Dean smacks the wall hard as Sam takes him all the way in again, going completely still as he tickles Dean’s balls, dipping lower to stroke along his taint.

“Holy shit,” Dean says, awed, as Sam hastily pulls his briefs over the curve of his ass and spreads his cheeks, fingers disappearing between his asscheeks. Without thinking, he grabs the lube from the side drawer, snicking it open and bending forward to pour some down Sam’s crack.

Sam’s still warming his cock as he pushes a finger inside himself, humming gleefully, which has Dean’s hips thrusting up. Dean watches Sam opening himself up with his fingers, wondering what it would be like to have that privilege himself, getting to see Sam fighting back moans of pleasure as he stretches him wide enough to be ready for his cock.

The more he thinks about it, the more it feels like ice is being thrown on him, though his cock refuses to give up the warmth of Sam’s throat. This isn’t right, though… He shouldn’t be doing this—it’s wrong on so many levels; even worse that he’s fucking loving it.

“Wait—Sam… Sammy, stop and wake up,” Dean orders, clicking and failing to wrench Sam off his cock. Sam makes a disgruntled noise around him, allowing his head to be guided off. “I’ll just… I’ll just get dressed and find someplace else to sleep.”

“Why?” Sam asks, not even relenting in the languid pumping of his fingers into his own ass.

Dean frowns, hating himself for not being able to look away. “Because… Y’know… _This._ ”

Sam looks contemplative and then grins, crawling up Dean’s body until his cock is trapped between Sam’s cheeks. “You mean the thing that you ordered?” he husks into Dean’s ear, rolling his hips back and rubbing the crown over his slick hole. “I was awake, you moron.”

Dean stiffens at that, clutching Sam’s face. “You’ve been conscious this whole time?”

“Would you really have preferred me not to be?” Sam shot back with a raised eyebrow, eyes focused on Dean’s lips as he rocks, hole ghosting back and forth over Dean’s cock. Fuck, he wanted it. “I knew you’d freak out if I said anything, so I kept quiet.”

“You… wanted this?—wanted me?”

Sam nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and rises up a bit to take just the head of Dean’s cock into his ass. Dean hisses and turns his head to the side, wondering if he should shove Sam off, order him to forget all about this…

“Dean, I want you,” Sam declares, taking him all the way in, knocking the air out of Dean’s lungs. Words fail him, his body turning to mush as Sam braces his hands on his shoulders and starts making small up and down motions that have his mouth gaping open. “I’ve always wanted you… I didn’t know you wanted it, too, but I need this—you.”

Dean hears Sam’s words, hears the desperation in them, like he doesn't want this to all have been one epic dream, but he’s not even sure what he wants right now. All he knows is that he likes what’s happening between them. He likes that Sam has wanted him for all of this time, though he would have preferred he’d said something sooner.

To be fair, he can also see why he didn’t.

Maybe this curse was what they needed all along to find each other.

“Please… Dean—don’t push me away,” Sam says, stopping his movement. He’s stock-still with Dean buried balls deep in his ass, looking like there’s nowhere he would rather be and Dean can’t help thinking that he’s never looked more beautiful than he does now.

Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s body and searches for his lips, bringing them together as he assists Sam in guiding his body up and down, and up and down, letting Sam take what pleasure he can from him as he tastes his lips—really tastes them, tongue breaching his willing mouth, slip-sliding, curling and exchanging spit as Sam fucks down onto him, moaning between searing kisses that have them both panting for breath.

Their eyes fall to half-mast as they stare at each other, the time for words over. Sam clenches around him, creating addictive friction that robs Dean of his ability to say anything, even if he had wanted to.

He rakes his hands over Sam’s back, biting into his flesh with his nails as he catches Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth. It’s everything he wants and more right now, Sam craning his neck, leaving him room to lavish it with hickies that he knows will be on full display come morning.

Sam cries out for more, giving as good as he gets, both of them biting into each other as they ramp up the pace, Dean bringing his hands down hard on Sam’s ass, kneading the flesh as he bucks up into him, meeting Sam pound for pound, balls feeling uncomfortably full.

Between them, he can see Sam’s cock hard and throbbing, leaking spindles of pre-come onto his stomach. If it were any other man, he would probably be grossed-out. With it being Sam, though, he’s impossibly turned on knowing that he’s the one causing it, groaning deep in his throat as he tucks his head beneath Sam’s chin, holding on for dear life as Sam rides him with abandon.

There’re moans and curses falling from their lips as they race to the finish, Sam’s ass pounding down on his thighs almost violently, hole flexing around him again and again, lowering his IQ to that of a common housefly as Sam literally takes him for a ride, moaning his name into Dean’s hair, gyrating his hips, lifting off just to fuck back down again.

“You sonovabitch!” Dean grits, curling into Sam, losing the rest of his sanity as his orgasm is wrenched from him, thighs still and quaking as his cock pulses inside Sam’s channel, filling it with so much come it drips down to the base of Dean’s cock, sliding down his balls and sticking to the fine hairs around his crotch.

Sam keens, snapping off Dean’s name as he rolls his hips one more time, stilling and shooting hot and heavy over Dean’s chest, body convulsing, joints twitching out of place as his face softens into one of pure bliss before he’s planting his hands on the wall to stop himself from collapsing.

Dean’s having none of it, dragging him down on top of him and kissing the side of his sweaty head, squeezing harder than he probably should, but he had to reassure himself that Sam’s real.

When the dust settles and they have their breaths back, Dean is the first to speak.

“So… what did _you_ get up to in college, Sammy?” Dean asks pointedly, slapping Sam’s ass.

“What do you mean?”

Dean rolls his eyes, chuckles and kisses Sam again. “That was… pretty fucking good.”

“Just pretty fucking good?” Sam says incredulously. “Did you see your face when you came?”

“No. I may have been balls deep in your ass, but that doesn't mean I can see through your damn eyes.”

Sam snickers. “It was pretty epic. Pornstars would be envious,” he adds with a smirk, wriggling his ass against Dean’s hand. Fucking tease. “Are you gonna freak out?”

“Nah, I’m good. I just wanna enjoy this high right now. And then crash because I’m tired as shit.”

“Go to sleep then,” Sam mutters, clicking his fingers, which they both share a laugh at until Sam nuzzles Dean’s chest, sighs contently and says, “Goodnight, jerk.”

“Goodnight, bitch.”

===

They broke the curse after a few more weeks of fun. Just because the night now ends in the sanctity of Sam’s ass does not mean that Dean isn’t going to make his life a living hell leading up to it, especially since Sam clearly gets off on it.

A little.

Maybe a lot. Dean’s not gonna ask because even he thinks that’s not fair.

The point is, they’re both glad that the witch cursed Sam.

They’re happy and that’s what matters.

The end.

END

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't expecting the bit of schmoop either, but there you have it. 
> 
> I felt like I could have done more, but I needed to get this done for you guys since I wanted to have something posted before the end of the week, and I felt bad because the heat over the past few days knocked me for six and I didn't have the energy to write. 
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait and you guys aren't disappointed with the result! <3


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